


Targets

by seerofsight



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: James Moriarty - Freeform, Jim Moriarty - Freeform, M/M, Necrophilia, Other, Swearing, algophilia, mormor, sebastian moran - Freeform, the golbastian, the golem - Freeform, traumatophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-07
Updated: 2012-05-07
Packaged: 2017-11-05 00:30:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seerofsight/pseuds/seerofsight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Golem attempts to assassinate Moriarty in his sleep while Moran is on watch duty. A manly tussle between Sebastian and the Golem proceeds. It’s a lose-lose kind of night for most involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Targets

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Rape, dub-con, intense language, graphic violence, necrophilia, traumatophilia, algophilia, character death, BDSM, D&S, gore, tasteless smut.
> 
> I do not own any characters from the Sherlock Holmes series.

To Sebastian Moran, the thick odor of his gun polish was what home was supposed to smell like. Which is what put him in a particularly sour mood when Jim, upon moving the colonel into their flat, had him switch out his regular cleaning solvent with some odorless hippie bullfuck of a polish. His opinion of the eco-friendly cleaning spray that Sebastian was holding had not wavered, and he put the damnable bottle of a whore down next to the tackle box he used to organize all of his cleaning supplies. He’d sooner use his own piss and tongue to clean the AS50 cradled in his lap, partially disassembled and spread neatly across the living room coffee table. Hence the small, unlabeled bottle of chemical-scented cleaning compound that Moran kept hidden under the bottom of his tackle box. 

Sebastian stroked the shaft of his gun and straightened his posture in his leather arm chair. Jim had strategically positioned him to oversee the adjoining kitchen and front door, the hallway to its right leading to the other rooms, and Jim on his left, who had finally, finally, fallen asleep on the couch. The marksman fiddled lovingly with his weapon, audibly snapping and twisting its limbs in and out of place while he inspected the whole of the machine for grime. The noise didn’t bother Jim. On the contrary, noise helped the little fuckerette sleep. Pondering this, Sebastian turned the volume up on the Monty Python movie that Jim had fallen asleep to. His boss couldn’t just go the fuck to sleep unless he had an obnoxious stimulant surrounding the consultant; some nights Sebastian would have to bring his boss to a night club so that the bastard could nap at one of the tables. 

At the edge of Sebastian’s sight, the thin tip of a rounded shadow bobbed into sight from across the hallway corner. The lamps were arranged to cast shadows at just such an angle, but anyone with the balls to break into James Moriarty’s flat would be attentive enough to keep his shadow concealed. Sebastian swiftly put his AS50 behind his chair and retrieved a well-loved semi-automatic side arm from his belt. The colonel lightly stepped over to Jim and knelt down to wake him when a thought occurred: what if the intruder wasn’t incompetent, but instead had a shadow too large to hide behind the wall? 

These thoughts were abandoned when a small, dark orb was abruptly thrown into the living room. “Boss! Grenade!” Sebastian dropped his gun and crossed the room as he threw himself over the bomb. From underneath him, Sebastian fluidly snatched the weapon and hurled the grenade back into the hall as he observed the full figure of the intruder that was now charging at him. To call this man huge was a deadly understatement. The intruder’s bald head was easily out of Sebastian’s reach, with limbs so lanky, so gracelessly proportioned that there might as well be steel pipes fished through the suit jacket sleeves than legitimate human extremities. Sebastian met the threat head on by tackling his opponent, but struggled to remain in control of the fight as the two tumbled around the room, neither quite able to pin the other. The trespasser withstood Sebastian’s assaults with his unusual but advantageous limbs, long and thin like an eel, which had at least as much blunt vigor as a Jim’s personality. This combination was successfully employed in the flailing used to fight against Sebastian, instead of any recognizable organized fighting style. 

“You puss filled ballsack,” Sebastian growled. He eventually lined up an arm and slugged his boney knuckles into the other man’s throat. Now briefly released from his fight, Sebastian took full advantage and burst across the room, first retrieving his gun, then to his (fucking how?!) still sleeping boss. “Boss! Wake UP!” Sebastian knelt protectively in front of Jim and aimed his handgun at his lanky target, who was still regaining his balance on his gawky limbs. Moran fired at the man, aiming for his torso, but miscalculated the intruder’s awkward movements and hit the right bicep instead as the man dove from his spot to behind the kitchen’s island in one inhumane stride. 

Sebastian kept his gun pointed at the counter as he shook Jim awake, and took a reflexive punch to the temple for his trouble from startling his half-asleep boss. “Sebastian,” Jim yawned and settled back into the cushions. “Why did you let me fall asleep, I missed the ‘Find the Fish’ part. Go rewind it for me.”

“Bitch’s bastard,” Sebastian growled as he shot the DVD player that was still loudly playing Jim’s insufferable movie. He turned back to Jim and put his hand on the smaller man’s chest to keep him still on the couch. “Someone broke in. Some freakishly tall crapmuncher, pale as jizz, too.”

Jim was silent as his face relaxed into a smirk. “Oh Sebastian, The Golem’s really a little lamb chop if you can catch him on a day he’s showered.” 

A low, threatening grunt responded from the Golem on the opposite side of the adjoining room. Sebastian wrapped his arm around Jim and pushed him behind his leather chair, kicking the partially assembled gun to the side to make room. “I thought he did good work for you.”

“He upset my Sherlock, Sebastian. You saw the video from the museum! Mr. Dzundza thought he could touch my man’s virginal throat like he owned it.” 

“So who did you send to give him a slap on the wrist?” 

“Smith.” That was a shame. Smith had a decent sense of humor. But either Smith fucked up her assassination and Sebastian would have to kill her first thing tomorrow, or she was already dead. Strangled, probably, if Sebastian recalled The Golem’s skillset. 

“Hmph.” The Golem leaned over the side of the counter and quickly retreated when Sebastian fired at him twice. “I’d’ve sent Van Wyhe.” 

Sebastian buckled forward and snarled through clenched teeth as Jim smashed his elbow into the sniper’s kidney from behind. “Do. Not. Talk back to me, Moran. You’re to shoot Van Wyhe right through his butt-shaped hair cut tomorrow after you make sure Smith died tonight.”

“Yes, boss.” Sebastian took deep, strenuous breaths for composure and refocused his aim on the kitchen. “So you want this guy dead, or just wishin’ for it?”

“I want,” Jim twisted his head, stretching his neck out as far as it would go, and dramatically rolled his eyes to face Sebastian with a pitiful expression. “I want a glass of water. And that pillow I had, over on the couch; I’m still tired. Get to it.” Jim slapped Sebastian’s ass sharply and nestled himself down on the thick carpeted floor. 

“Mother raping… fine, boss. I’ll see if I can’t put my gun up his dick and shoot his ovaries on the way over.” Sebastian thought over how best to do this. Since there was no explosion, the grenade had to of been a dummy, a decoy to lure any competent body guard into the open. Nicely played, you pasty cock-biter. 

The Golem had an absurd amount of strength to work with; he could make do just fine without a gun. Actually, from his record, the bald ass crack seemed to have aesthetics for purely physical kills… would he have any weapons on him at all? He might have a gun, just in case. And he might have used all of his bullets against Smith. Not that Sebastian could count on that if The Golem did pull this hypothetical gun on him. 

Plus there was this guy’s ridiculous size. Sebastian’s height was well into the six foot range, but all of his training was designed with the intent of being used on people who were human-sized. Whoop-da-fucking-doodly-doo for him. Guess plan A’s going to have to be to shoot faster than other guy, or at least make sure he stays put at the opposite side of the room as Jim. 

Sebastian lowered his outstretched arms and stood hunched in a near ninety degree angle, his adrenalin helping him disregard the aching in his back from where Jim hit him. The colonel slowly walked forward in this position, pausing next to the couch so he could throw Jim’s pillow at the wall above the mathematician. Jim thanked him with a “Still thirsty…” 

Sebastian sighed. Don’t ever change, Jim, you queefing son of a gunless hippie.

The body guard continued forward, his stiff boots fluidly dipping and curling as it treaded silently across the room. Sebastian adjusted his weight so that he was balanced on the balls of his feet while ducked under the surface of the counter, and leaned against the island. 

Jump to the right, put five… no, tenish feet between him and the threat, shoot to kill, shoot a few more times to put on a show for the boss, shoot once or twice more because he’s had a long day, and then put Jim to bed. 

Sebastian strained his legs and lurched forward to the side of the counter while turning to face the Golem. The giant was kneeling on all fours minus the injured arm, waiting for this attack. In the breath it took Sebastian to position the gun the Golem snapped his limbs into use and hurdled over the kitchen’s island as two bullets were fired. One grazed the Golem’s hip, tearing the suit and dragging an enflamed streak along its long caress. The second penetrated deep into the Golem’s right calf. 

The Golem partially restrained a roar as he landed on the wounded leg, and collapsed when shockwaves of pain riffled from the exertion. As the Golem fell he used his uninjured leg to sustain his momentum and rolled across the floor onto his front. Sebastian kept up with the change of motions and fired two more shots, both missing the vital targets and instead lodging within the Golem’s lower torso. The titanic man screeched through barred teeth while Sebastian took aim again. In the heartbeat dividing aim and fire, the Golem withdrew from his coat pocket a second grenade, hooked the pin around his finger and tossed it across the room in one harsh, shaky motion. 

Sebastian cocked his gun and ran to the new threat. Shit, it was probably another fake. Sebastian would have used a fake, too; it’s not like a body guard would ever ignore a potential bomb. But then, he wouldn’t dismiss using a real grenade if he had four bullet wounds and no chance of killing his target with a gun. Or in the Golem’s case, by strangling. 

Heh. Right. As if the Golem ever had a chance of getting within pissing distance of Jim. 

Sebastian kept the Golem in his eye line as he charged for the grenade. The colonel dropped onto the bomb, rolling onto his knees as he retrieved it. Sebastian turned himself and as he lifted his arm back to chuck it into the kitchen, the Golem once again crossed an impossible distance with one super-human lunge and took the sniper’s neck in one huge hand while grabbing the gun wielding hand in the other. 

The pair collapsed onto the floor, and the Golem pinned Sebastian down by the smaller man’s neck, shaking this hold to distract the colonel while he positioned his knees on the shoulders. Sebastian released the bomb and began punching the Golem’s stomach wounds. The Golem groaned and cringed at each blow, but gripped Sebastian’s neck and hand tighter as the pain increased. 

Blood from the wound on the Golem’s arm speckled Sebastian’s face as it held him down. If Sebastian had the luxury of relaxing his face muscles, he might have cracked a smile from the thrill of this fight. And by hell, if the army had given him more fights like this one, he would have spit in Jim’s face to have his dishonorable discharge undone. The raw, base struggle of life against life, no morals to weigh down the punches or bullets, just pure, all-or-nothing combat with each man freely wagering his life for the sake of male dominance. Every ounce of energy forced to exertion just to ensure another breath could replace the last; Sebastian would never (could never) recognize another form of beauty. The blood spatter trickled into his snarling mouth and the jagged taste of unrefined iron left him deliciously unsettled and needy for more. 

But survival came first, and Sebastian groped the Golem’s torso until he felt a wound. The Golem’s grip on his neck tightened, but Sebastian retaliated by wedging his thumb through the wet, ragged brawn and clenched his hand as he formed a partial-fist around the handful of flesh. The Golem screamed and loosened his holds while Sebastian freed his second hand and grabbed the assassin by the shoulder to roll them. Sebastian withdrew his hand and straddled his opponent as he pelted punches onto the Golem’s face. The Golem grabbed for Sebastian’s throat in retaliation, but blood loss and pain had cut his vigor to a fraction of what it began with, and the hold was ineffective. 

Money suddenly drifted into Sebastian’s vision and he risked a glance up between hits to see Jim sitting cross legged on the chair he had been stationed behind. The consultant held his wallet open and tossed his cash onto the pair as he wolf whistled. “’Atta boy, Sebastian. Make him snap… break him like one of your tigers.” 

“SOD! OFF! JIM! YOU! BLEEDING! CUNT!” Sebastian yelled in rhythm with his punches. Money that landed between Sebastian and his target absorbed the Golem’s blood, tearing off as they stuck to Sebastian’s worn fists. 

The Golem’s arms gave out and dropped. Sebastian worked in a few more punches before slowly shuffling off of the body and grabbing his discarded gun. Just as the gun was aimed at the Golem’s head, Sebastian was called out of his focus by Jim. 

“Stop.” Jim tossed his wallet to the side and slid to the floor, kneeling over the body. Sebastian shuffled forward to flank his boss with the gun still firmly pointed at the Golem. Jim’s hand twisted forward and grabbed Sebastian’s groin, crushing the tips of his fingers into his hold while shifting his sight between the gunman and the injured man. “Why don’t you ever get this worked up for me, huh?” 

Sebastian really needed a cigarette. “Guess it’s ’cause if I ever had the mind to try to kill you in bed, I might just go through with it.” 

Jim let go of Sebastian to reposition his fingers to the Golem’s neck. A smile slithered over Jim’s face. “My word. Our Mr. Dzundza is still among us living folk.” Jim leaned down until his face was nearly rubbing against the Golem’s, who blankly stared upward with half-lidded eyes. 

Jim straightened his back briskly and looked around the room until he locked his sight onto the second grenade. The criminal crawled over to it and picked it up, rolling the weight of it in his hand. “This is cute. It almost looks real enough to fool a soldier.” Jim looked over his shoulder at Sebastian. 

“Can I please just shoot this shit-spitter, boss?” 

Playfully tossing the grenade from hand to hand, Jim rose to his feet and stood over his kneeling body guard. Jim combed his fingers through Sebastian’s shaggy hair and forcefully grabbed it, snapping the man’s head backward to face him. Sebastian confronted Jim’s eerily calm half-smile with his own stoic frown, lips parting into a minute smirk which were each tenderly petted by his tongue. 

“Do you kiss your mother with that gutter mouth, Sebastian?”

“I kiss a mother.” Jim’s smile widened as he clicked his tongue at the insult. The grenade was held against Sebastian’s mouth and pressed forward softly. Sebastian opened his mouth to this as much as he could, not wide enough to hold it with his teeth, but enough to push back with his tongue hard enough for his boss to feel. Jim directed Sebastian’s head to lean back against his hips and let go of the sniper’s hair. The empty fist slammed down against the grenade, ramming the weapon into the mouth fully passed the teeth. Sebastian gagged roughly and hissed as he felt at least one tooth come out from the force, but let that pain synchronize with the smoldering ache of his jaw dislocating. 

Jim leaned over him and lightly kissed the rounded bulged curving out of Sebastian’s mouth, letting his lips drag across it up to his employee’s stretched lip as he rose. “Give me your gun.” 

Sebastian obliged when Jim swiped the weapon from him, and allowed the smaller man to lead him by his shirt collar to the Golem’s body. Because of the grenade propping his jaw, Sebastian was unable to look downward enough to get a clear view of the Golem, but what he could notice made him twinge and flush with the kind of animalistic incitement that only his Jim was ever able to produce with less than a whim of motivation. The Golem’s blood camouflaged his pale face with shifting shades of red and brown as it dribbled down from Sebastian’s love taps. The blood-moistened black wool of the suit gleamed like the nethermost tier of the drowning ocean, and expelled an odor of rotting, sour rust.

Jim released Sebastian’s collar and knelt on the ground next to the colonel. Sebastian ignored his boss, hoping it would irritate Jim if he kept his focus reserved for the appreciation of his handiwork. It did. Jim rearranged his hold on the gun and goosed him with the muzzle through his jeans. Damn the little roach was pissy tonight. Sebastian decided to goad Jim’s sour mood by grinding his hips back into the gun, groaning lightly. Please, Jim. As if he’d never been sexually assaulted by a gun before. 

Jim stood again and kicked Sebastian in the back so he would fall over the Golem’s waist. Sebastian coaxed an ache from the new sore spot on his back from rising to all fours just as Jim grabbed the back of his collar again, and led him like a mutt until the sniper was kneeling over the Golem’s hips. Sebastian’ sat down on his calves with the Golem embedded between his legs, and let his hands idly rub circles around his inner thighs as he eyed Jim expectantly. Challengingly. 

And Jim did not disappoint. The consultant swooped and swerved into the kitchen, then reentered the scene with a long, slender chopping knife. Jim knelt directly behind Sebastian, standing on his knees over the Golem’s lanky, battered legs, and wrapped his gun-toting arm around Sebastian’s chest. The knife’s tip crept forward from around Sebastian’s waist to carve into the Golem’s trousers, gutting and shredding the fabric as it undressed the man. Sebastian raked his fingers through the frayed rips and worked with Jim to mangle the obstructing layers of fabric until the Golem’s blood-tinted, hairless hips were brandished beneath the pair. 

Jim’s arms tightened around Sebastian’s torso as he embraced the sniper’s pelvis between his thighs, and propelled Sebastian’s entire body downward. Sebastian stationed his hips to align with the Golem’s, jostling into Jim as he positioned himself. Jim withdrew his arms from around Sebastian, and held them down to his employee’s lower back, keeping the body guard in place as Jim teased the tip of his knife into the back of Sebastian’s jeans. The sharp point wheedled through the fabric and teased the colonels’ prostrated rear as it needled against the thin boxer shorts. Jim shifted his hold on the knife once it had a secure hitch inside Sebastian’s clothes and held it at a guillotine angle down toward the bared hips. “Have at it then. Get it out of your system, my pet.” Jim grabbed the waist band of Sebastian’s jeans, rowing the man to thrust into the Golem and buck upward into the knife.

The knife itself was not hacking into Sebastian, or at least not like it could be if Jim had the mind to do so, but it instead sawed the blockading layers of clothes that Sebastian still had covering him. Sebastian writhed up and down atop of the Golem, moaning at the feeling of each new love bite the knife left as it was substituted by the grinding friction given by his soon-to-be-kill. As Sebastian curved downward again, Jim suddenly pushed down on his back, holding him in place with what little weight Jim had. The colonel passively indulged the gesture and stopped moving, content with the new pressure forcing the Golem further between his parted legs. Jim’s knife-wielding arm appeared in front of Sebastian’ again, and sheathed the kitchen tool into the abdomen of the Golem. Not even a murmur from the Golem. Guess there were only so many times a man could be killed before he died.

The hand was lifted off of Sebastian and was soon replaced by the feeling of Jim’s fingers barging through what must now be a rather sizeable hole in the back of his jeans. The well-groomed nails dragged across his skin as Sebastian felt the fingers clench around the edges of his clothes. Jim tore the hole wider, creating a sharp shrill with the fabric as it submitted to the assault. Sebastian felt a hard slap land across his new exposure, and closed his eyes to focus on the sting that fizzled across his skin. 

Something cold suddenly forced its way between Sebastian’s prostrated muscles. The gun? Yeh, probably. Hopefully. (Because dildos and phalluses and the like were so… so ordinary, so below Jim, and there were a hell of a lot worse things Jim could be groping him with—but again, it wouldn’t do to get his hopes up.) Sebastian felt the sharp sight on the tip of the muzzle chiseling its path as the (upside-down) gun pressed further inside of him. After a moment of gently nuzzling the tip of the gun into Sebastian, the length of the barrel was shoved into the tight orifice, chaffing the skin painfully as it intimately stretched and scrapped Sebastian. The colonel moaned and bit into the grenade as gun was wedged roughly into Sebastian until even the trigger guard was partially tucked inside him. 

Sebastian arched his back to strain his muscles tighter around the dangerous discomfort, moaning as the sights of the gun carved into the stressed flesh. Fuck he hoped that twisted little hipster-fucker thought to turn the safety off. Sebastian felt Jim’s hands grasp his hips, and he propped his front up on his erect arms, bending his back into a crescent. Jim nuzzled his own hips into the back of the sniper’s, grinding directly against the gun as he thrust, and hissed “As you were, pet.” 

Sebastian eagerly resumed grating into the Golem’s lap and recoiling upward into the gun just as Jim pressed into him. Over and over this repeated without hesitation, the movements escalating in aggression each time. Sebastian felt his loins contract lightly, threatening to implode, but unable to follow through. The sniper looked down at the Golem’s body as best he could, and groped the wounds. His fingers circled and pinched the edges of the bullet holes as stale blood spread around the edges, slick and messy. Sebastian drew his thumbs over the holes and pressed the width into it, forcing the orifice to expand at his touch until he was consumed. The thumbs rubbed the loose sides of the hole, in and down, up and out, in time with his thrusts. 

The choking in Sebastian’s abdomen tightened, readily. Sebastian moaned loudly and penetrated his thumbs fully into the bullet wounds to grip the sides of the man, tearing the edge of the wound wider, as he bucked himself aggressively into the body, into the gun, into Jim. The merciless, wild, vicious pressure overflowed Sebastian’s body and expelled itself into Sebastian’s jeans as he stiffened his movements just in time to groan from the base of his throat.

Jim snapped Sebastian’s head back by a tuff of the ex-soldier’s hair, abruptly ending the soft after effect in favor for the crisp pain Sebastian brazenly craved. “Did I say,” Jim pressed his lips around Sebastian’s ear lobe as he spoke. “That you had my permission to stop, petty-poo?”

Sebastian groaned lightly as the hold on his hair tightened. Hooking his filthy fingers into his mouth, Sebastian wiggled and tugged the grenade out of him. Sebastian’s jaw crackled as he closed it, the agony of the injury glazing over every tooth and pore of his face. “It’s time,” Sebastian jerked his head to the side and spat out a lost tooth onto the carpet. “For bed, boss.” 

Jim smirked as his head oscillated beside Sebastian’s, the proposed threat already being twisted and the challenge accepted by both men. Sebastian used his empty hand to roughly pull the handgun out of him, and then pivoted on his knees to face Jim as his hair was released. The gunman’s eyes lazily swam downward and locked on Jim’s shamelessly engorged crotch, only to look back at his boss and return the smile. Sebastian forced his body to its feet, and pulled Jim up with him. In the same motion, Sebastian bent down and hurled Jim into the air, over his shoulder. Jim grunted and laughed as Sebastian secured the hold around his waist. Every step Sebastian took provoked his sensitive injuries, reigniting his cravings for the deranged yuppie squirming atop his shoulder. 

“And this,” Sebastian rubbed the grenade between Jim’s firm, open cheeks. “This, we’re gonna get our money’s worth out’ve, boss.”

**Author's Note:**

> With this fanfiction, I issue you a challenge, Sherlock Fandom. I want someone to see if s/he can write a story of the same approximant word count with more original swears for Sebastian Moran than I have used here. Go forth, my sons and daughters of smut, and make it so!


End file.
